


Crowley's Christmas Carol

by CousinSerena



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Dreams, Fluff and Angst, It's a Wonderful Life, Kind of a Christmas Carol and It's a Wonderful Life Fusion, M/M, Snake Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:27:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21569134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CousinSerena/pseuds/CousinSerena
Summary: Crowley hates Christmas, and of course Aziraphale loves everything about it.  When a Christmas prank goes horribly wrong, Aziraphale is deeply hurt.  Crowley decides his angel would be better off if he'd never met him.  But then an unexpected guardian angel appears to him in a dream to show him just how wrong he is.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 155
Collections: Aziraphale's Library Festive Fic Recs





	1. Chapter 1

To say that Crowley despised Christmas would be an understatement. He positively loathed the holiday—the forced cheer, the blaring of Christmas carols and celestial harmonies everywhere one went, the bright lights everywhere ruining the velvety darkness and shadows of night—and the insanity seemed to begin earlier and earlier each year. And to think, so many of the Christmas traditions were pagan in origin. The tree, for example. Pagans hung evergreen branches way back in the fourth century. Not to mention the whole blessed affair was on the wrong date—the Child hadn’t been born in winter; he’d been born in spring.

In any case, people went more and more mad each year, seeing how many lights and baubles they could string on a tree and who could display the biggest and most garish decoration on their property.

It all posed a big problem for Crowley when it came to his angel. He’d begun spending so much time in the bookshop and the angel’s little flat upstairs that he only went to his own flat to water and yell at the plants, or when he wanted to nap for several days on end undisturbed.

The problem was that Aziraphale was positively enraptured over all things Christmas. Which meant that every time he hung out at Aziraphale’s, his senses were overloaded. The angel hung holly and evergreen garlands all over the fireplace and tops of bookshelves, most with twinkling lights adorning them. There must have been fifty Father Christmas figurines on display throughout the shop, red and green towels in the toilet, and Christmas snow globes on every tabletop.

The whole shop was simply ablaze in red, green, silver and gold. And of course the angel had cleared space for an enormous Christmas tree which he was now busily decorating whilst humming along to the carols he played on his old fashioned record player. Even worse, Crowley had bought the angel a television several months ago, and Aziraphale miracled nothing but Christmas movies to play on it. It was now showing “It’s a Wonderful Life,” the part where George Bailey is horrified when the angel Clarence shows him that his wife has turned out to be a spinster librarian. 

“Crowley, are you going to help me decorate or are you simply going to lounge on my sofa pouting?” asked Aziraphale, the corners of his mouth turned up.

“I am _not_ pouting. But I’m bored, angel! You know how I feel about all this.” He waved in a vague sweeping gesture. 

“Don’t be such a Scrooge. Demon or no, it wouldn’t hurt for you to at least try to enjoy the holiday a bit. After all, I attempted to get into the Halloween spirit for you. I even went to that horrid Haunted House attraction.” The angel shuddered. “Look here dear, I’ll get us each a nice cup of hot chocolate, shall I?”

Crowley sulked. The angel was supposed to be paying attention to _him_ , not putting baubles on a giant tree. He knew Aziraphale would simply hand him his drink and go right back to decorating. Still, he _did_ like a nice cup of cocoa and Aziraphale made the best. 

“Well, I suppose that’d be all right,” he said. “With marshmallows?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Yes, with marshmallows, you old grouch.” He went into the backroom where there was a tiny kitchen he’d added and got busy making the chocolate. 

As he hummed “Hark the Herald Angels Sing,” Crowley looked at the telly. George Bailey was having a major crisis as he saw how dismal life in Bedford Falls would be without him. Crowley snorted. “Sappy holiday rubbish,” he muttered.

“What’s that, dear?”

“Nothing, angel,” he called back.

He looked at the enormous tree. The angel had stuffed it with glass baubles and lights, but he had to admit the pine did smell lovely. And then he had a thought—an irresistible thought.

He wondered what it would be like to slither up into the tree in his snake form and drape himself over the branches? He grinned, delighted at the idea. Aziraphale would come into the room and find Crowley missing. He’d set the cocoa down, of course. Then, as soon as he got near the tree to go around it and down the hall to look for Crowley, he would poke his head out and surprise him. What fun! 

“I’ll just be a few more minutes, Crowley,” Aziraphale called from the kitchen.

“No problem, angel!”

Now was his chance. He sauntered over to the tree and took a moment to focus. He breathed in and out deeply, willing his joints to relax and his body to loosen and elongate into his serpentine form. 

Now he was on the floor looking directly ahead at the base of the tree, which was stuck in a big pan of water. He was able to adjust his size, and he made himself big enough to startle the angel, but small enough to slink up the trunk and drape himself over the branches.

Up he went, delighting in the rough texture of the trunk against his body. It was like scratching an itch. The scent of the pine was delightful, annoying Christmas tradition or no. He made his way to the middle of the tree but wanted to go further up so that he would be at eye level when Aziraphale stood next to him as he hid. He slithered up, worrying a bit as the tree wobbled just a bit in its base. 

Now, to make his way along one of the branches. He wanted his head to be positioned close enough so that he could poke it out and startle the angel. He knew Aziraphale would be a little annoyed, but then he’d laugh as he always did at Crowley’s (mostly) harmless pranks. He eased himself out along a branch that was just about eye level to Aziraphale—but the branch was already laden with a heavy ornament. It was a red glass apple, one of the angel’s favorites. They had bought it while browsing an outdoor Christmas market last year. The angel had wriggled with joy over the find, saying it would always be a reminder of their first encounter in Eden.

Crowley had underestimated the weight of the ornament, and the effect of his own weight added to it. With a shock of realization, he felt the tree wobble dangerously—and then, as he tried to hurriedly writhe back around to the center of the tree, he felt himself and the tree going down.

_Crash!!_

The beautiful tree now lay on its side, water running out of the pan, Crowley having barely slithered out of the way. 

The beautiful glass apple ornament was now in shatters all over the floor.

Aziraphale came running just as Crowley transformed back into his human corporation.

For a moment, the angel just stood there, not shouting, not saying anything. His open mouth simply shut and his face hardened into an unreadable expression. Then his eyes fell upon the shattered remains of the glass apple. Crowley had never seen Aziraphale look like that. He wished he would yell at him or something, not just stand there looking at the mess and at Crowley like he was— _disappointed_.

“Angel, I—I’m sorry, I just…”

“Just what, Crowley? What were you doing? I know you hate Christmas, I know you can’t stand to see me enjoy the holidays while you mope around on the sofa—but I didn’t think you’d go so far as to ruin…”

Crowley was mortified to see tears in the angel’s eyes. He’d only wanted to play a little prank. How could Aziraphale think he’d deliberately destroyed the tree?

“Honest, Aziraphale. I only meant to play a little joke…” he trailed off lamely. “Look, we can just miracle it back together, I’m sorry.”

“Joke? Well, I hope you’re amused, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s face was clouded over in a mixture of anger and hurt.

“Look, I said I’m sorry,” he snapped defensively. “It’s not like I meant to knock over your stupid tree!”

 _Oh, God—Satan—whoever_. He’d gone too far. He didn’t mean it, but he’d said it and it hung there between them and it was too late to un-say it. 

Aziraphale looked so stunned and hurt, how could Crowley possibly fix it? He’d wounded his angel to the core.

“I’m sorry, angel. Really I’m sorry. Let me help you. I just—”

“Just go, Crowley. Just go home.”

The silence was palpable and awful. The demon couldn’t look his angel in the eyes. He hung his head feeling small and ashamed, and slunk out the front door of the shop.

He decided to punish himself by walking back to his flat in the cold, with a light snow dusting everything. He looked at the ground as he walked along, ignoring the blaring cheer of the holiday lights and shop displays all around him. “Go home,” the angel had told him. As if the book shop wasn’t his true home, where his heart was. Why hadn’t he just tried to join in on the angel’s fun? It wouldn’t have cost him anything, and instead he’d ruined Aziraphale’s Christmas.

But that was what he did, wasn’t it? He was a demon, and therefore bound to cause mischief and havoc, ruining everything he got close to. He wasn’t a particularly good demon, and he wasn’t good enough for his angel either.

He walked along on autopilot, dimly aware of the bitter cold seeping into his limbs. He was never good with cold, even in his human corporation he was especially sensitive to it. His bare hands ached even though they were stuffed inside his coat pockets. He should ache, he thought, for making his angel’s heart ache like that.

Eventually he found himself back at his own flat, largely unaware of how he got there. He entered and scanned his austere, Christmas-free, angel-free flat. He looked at his plants and he was too downhearted to work up the energy to berate them. One of the ferns had a brown spot, and it trembled as Crowley approached it. He thought of how the angel would have stroked the little plant and said encouraging things to it instead of yelling at it, and then the tears started flowing down his face. He reached out and brushed a finger over the spotty frond. “It’s all right, plant,” he said, sniffling. “I’m shoddy too.”

And with that, he shuffled into his dark bedroom, crawled under the covers and drifted off to sleep thinking how Aziraphale would have been so much happier if he’d never met him…

He opened his eyes to find a soft white light radiating all around him. His dark flat practically _glowed_ with ethereal light. Was it morning already? Surely not. And anyway, the light was not coming from outside his draped windows. It was inside the flat and all around him.

“What the heaven?” he asked aloud.

“Not quite, demon,” answered a familiar voice. A figure stepped through his bedroom door, surrounded in a bright white glow which dissipated to reveal—

“ _Gabriel?_ ” Crowley’s mouth hung open.

He snapped fully awake and sprang out of bed (fortunately still in his clothes and not naked, as he often slept), ready for battle.

Gabriel, dressed in a pristinely white suit and wearing his customary smirk, raised his hands in mock surrender. 

“Whoa now. Hold on there, _Crawly_.”

 _The wanker_ , Crowley thought.

“Wanker, is it? I’m not the one that completely ruined Christmas for his boyfriend.” He rolled his eyes at the word ‘boyfriend.’

Crowley’s mouth hung open. “You read my thoughts?”

“You’re _dreaming_ , you idiot. And for some reason, for tonight only, I’m your friggin’ Guardian Angel.” Crowley said nothing for a moment. This was too ridiculous to be happening, even in a dream.

“Yes, yes, I know,” said Gabriel impatiently. “Why me? I dunno. I don’t make the rules. Anyway, don’t think of me as the actual Gabriel. Think of me as the Spirit of Christmas or something. But here I am, ready to be your dream guide. So let’s get this started so we can get it over with. Now, what were you thinking when you drifted off to sleep?”

The events of the night flooded back to him. The stupid prank, wrecking the angel’s tree when he’d gone off to make him hot chocolate…

“That Aziraphale would be better off without me,” he said. “He’d be happier without me in his life.”

Gabriel—or at any rate, the Christmas spirit that looked and acted like Gabriel—reached out his hand to Crowley. When Crowley didn’t move, he rolled his eyes again and heaved a big sigh.

“Look, we have a long night ahead of us. Take my friggin’ hand already so I can show you what Aziraphale’s life would be without you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley grimaced. Take Gabriel’s hand? The only way he had ever wanted to touch Gabriel was to punch him square in his sanctimonious, insufferable smirking face. 

Gabriel cleared his throat. “Any time now, _insufferable_ demon.”

Crowley growled. 

“Look, just one question. Why help me? Aziraphale’s the one that needs help after I ruined his Christmas. I made him miserable.”

“What makes you think this is all about helping you?” asked Gabriel.

Crowley looked at him blankly. “Isn’t that why you’re doing this? To make me feel better?”

Gabriel’s eyes glinted. “You know what your problem is, Crowley? You act like it’s all about _you_. Sure, Aziraphale told you to go. He was hurt and angry. But the problem is, you _listened_ to him.” 

Crowley didn’t understand.

But, then again, he decided he didn’t really need to. Fine, he’d play along. He was obviously having some barmy dream after watching that holiday movie. He would see how Aziraphale’s life would be without him, and he already knew the answer—it would most _definitely_ be happier.

“Okay, fine, you’re my guardian angel for tonight. So why couldn’t you have looked more like Clarence in that movie I was watching instead of— _you_?” he asked.

“Would you have taken a fictional, bumbling little wingless angel seriously?”

“I suppose not,” Crowley conceded.

“Well, come on then. We’ve got places to go.”

Crowley grabbed Gabriel’s hand reluctantly.

“Right. Off we go to Stop Number One.”

And with that, the world swirled dizzyingly all around Crowley and Gabriel as if they were in the eye of a tornado. The sensation of being spun around in a blender went on and on. He had no footing and began to panic. To Crowley’s consternation, he found he was now holding the angel’s hand in a death grip. 

Stupid dream.

Just as Crowley thought he might be sick, he felt the ground back underneath his feet, and the atmosphere cleared. They stood on a green grassy area, with trees and flowering plants all around them. One tree in particular stood out, a huge apple tree with glistening red ripe apples begging to be picked. Not far from the tree stood a young human woman, dark skinned and naked, easy in her own skin and smiling as she smelled the large pink blossoms from a bush.

“Recognize this place?” smirked Gabriel.

“Of course I do, I’m not daft,” snapped Crowley. “I’m the Serpent of Eden. This is where it all started.”

“Not for you,” said Gabriel. “Not this time.”

As if on cue, a huge dark green/grey speckled amphibian crept through the tall grass until it stood next to the woman, who looked at it curiously. It flicked out its disgustingly long tongue and captured a fly, swallowing it before addressing the woman, in a low hissing tone punctuated with odd little grunts. “ _Hast thou tasted of the fruit of this tree_?”

The shock hit Crowley like he’d been hit by a bus. He recognized that voice.

“Hastur?” 

Gabriel grinned.

“ _Hastur_? That idiot demon with the frog stuck on his head? Is this some kind of joke—what’s Genesis going to say, the bloody ‘Frog of Eden’ then? You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.” 

“Someone has to do the tempting, don’t they? And you’re not around.”

“I’m right bloody here!” protested Crowley.

Gabriel sighed. “You _are_ thick headed, aren’t you? You’re not actually here. You don’t exist. There’s no Crawly, definitely no Crowley, and you never meet _him_.” Gabriel pointed upward.

Suddenly they’d leapt forward, minutes or hours, to the point at which Adam and Eve had just been expelled from the Garden. Crowley looked up, and there stood Aziraphale on the wall, just as he remembered him 6,000 years ago. 

He’d forgotten how beautiful the angel had looked that day in his snowy white robe and bare feet, with his glorious white wings out. He was gazing over the plain with furrowed brows, worrying over the humans already. He was so full of love and innocence, _radiating_ love, right from the beginning.

“Aziraphale!” he called. The angel did not react.

“He can’t hear you, dummy. You and I don’t exist for him. This is a different reality and _you are not here_ , remember?”

Crowley only half listened as an awful thought struck him. He whirled his head all around, as if looking for something or someone, then glanced worriedly back up at the angel.

“Oh, don’t worry,” said Gabriel. “Hastur’s already reported back to Headquarters. He’s getting a commendation for the Fall of Mankind. He’s not interested in fraternizing with the enemy. No need to be jealous.”

Crowley let out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding. So that was a relief, anyway. “It’s all good, then. Aziraphale will go on to just be happy and do his job—good deeds and blessings and all that, with no demonic interference.”

Gabriel laughed. “Is that what you think? Let’s jump ahead a little bit and test your theory.”

Crowley scowled as Gabriel stuck his hand out again.

“Off to Rome.”

This time they appeared directly inside a very familiar looking Roman tavern. Aziraphale was seated at a table having a drink when two familiar figures came barging into the place. Hastur and Ligur entered, in their human forms and wearing togas, each of them wearing a circular headpiece of golden leaves which hid the creatures on their heads. They were laughing and clapping each other on the back.

“Ha! That Caligula. Easiest job we ever had, eh mate?” said Ligur.

“Yeah, that’s for sure. Go tempt Caligula*, we’re told, and it turns out the bastard’s more depraved than we coulda figured!” agreed Hastur.

Then they stopped in their tracks as they spotted Aziraphale.

“Oh, well looky here, Ligur. We are in the presence of the Divine.” He gave a low mocking bow. They each grabbed a chair and sidled up on opposite sides of the angel, who looked like a cornered rabbit. A low growl rumbled in Crowley’s throat and he tensed, ready to fight the two of them off his angel.

“Easy, partner. You’re not here. How many times do I have to remind you?” asked Gabriel with a sigh.

Crowley watched the scene unfold in frustration.

“I do not want any trouble, thank you,” said Aziraphale, staring nervously straight ahead.

“Oh, well now, we don’t want any trouble either, do we mate?” Ligur asked Hastur.

“Oh no, none at all. Let’s all just sit here and have a drink together like old friends.”

“Well, I must say that’s very agreeable of you.” Aziraphale smiled tentatively.  
Crowley cringed. Aziraphale was so gullible and innocent, he didn’t even know when he was being hassled. 

“We’re agreeable fellows, ain’t we Hastur?”

“Oh sure, sure we are. And right now, we’re agreed we don’t want no angels stinkin’ up our tavern, ain’t that right?”

And with that, Ligur poured his entire tankard of ale over Aziraphale’s head as the two demons laughed uproariously. Aziraphale stood to face them, but only ended up sounding like a bullied school kid. Worse, he couldn’t miracle himself dry in front of a tavern full of humans, who were watching the exchange with interest.

“You, you—foul fiends! How dare you? I am a Principality—”

“And we’re Dukes of Hell. So stay out of our way, little angel. We’d better not find you near one of our temptations again, or we’ll pluck every pretty white feather right outta your wings.”

“Yeah!” offered Ligur. 

They shoved Aziraphale out the front door of the tavern, and the angel didn’t even fight back.

Crowley turned to Gabriel, unable to watch any more.

“Why does he let them bully him like that? Aziraphale’s soft, but he’s strong too.”  
“He’s alone down here,” said Gabriel. “He’s supposed to thwart his demonic counterparts here on earth, but there are two of them and he doesn’t have an Arrangement with them. They actually _act_ like demons.”

He understood. His angel would be no match for two demons who actually took their job seriously. Enough bullying and he’d be worn down. 

Still, as the world progressed and got more crowded with humans as they spread out across the globe, he wouldn’t have to encounter them much. And with demons like Hastur and Ligur pitted against him, he’d learn to be on his guard better. Hanging out with Crowley over the millennia had made the angel naïve—stumbling into traps and needing rescuing. Surely that wouldn’t happen in this reality.

As if reading his thoughts, Gabriel heaved a dramatic sigh. “Very well, I see you still need more convincing. Come on, we’re going on a little European vacation.” He grabbed Crowley’s hand unceremoniously and the world spun around them once more. 

This time they landed in a prison. The depressing scene settled around them as Gabriel announced, “Welcome to Revolutionary France. I believe you’re familiar with the scene?”

Aziraphale was seated in the dank prison cell, shackled and arguing with the executioner.

“You don’t understand. You can’t kill me….” he protested. “They’ll be so angry with me!”

To Crowley’s horror, the executioner was joined by a guard. They grabbed the shackles which bound the angel’s hands, and tugging him along they led Aziraphale away, still begging them to stop and babbling about paperwork. 

The door slammed behind them, and Crowley heard the most awful sound—his angel beginning to sob and scream for them to stop. The sound faded away, until at last the only sound was the roar of the mob outside as the guillotine dropped again.

He turned to Gabriel. He realized he was ice cold and shaking, dream or no dream.

“You can’t mean—you don’t—” He couldn’t speak.

Gabriel sighed and shook his head. 

“You weren’t there to save your boyfriend, sooo, yup. Inconveniently discorporated, I’m afraid. And not a pretty way to go, I might add. The pathetic thing is that he didn’t want to anger the head office—well,” he chuckled, “Let’s face it, he didn’t want to anger _me_ , by performing another ‘frivolous miracle,’ not even to save his life. 

But when he confessed why he’d been in the area, he got a temporary suspension from Earth duty. They kept him in a back office for a century before they gave him a new corporation. And, wow, the paperwork!” he guffawed. “He’s lucky that when they _did_ let him have his body back, they let him keep the same model. Though why he wouldn’t want one in better shape is beyond me.”

“You bastard!” Anger flooded Crowley and he lunged at Gabriel, who easily knocked him back with a wave of his hand.

“Hey now, it’s not my fault he got himself into trouble. A friendless angel should know better. But he didn’t learn to watch his back. Thought he could run around the world pulling stupid stunts like going for French Revolutionary crepes, enjoying himself with no consequences. Let me tell you after this, he kept his nose clean and did as he was told. Yessir, we let him have his little bookshop, but that’s where he stayed unless he was told otherwise.”

Crowley never wanted to punch that smug face as much as he did now. But he knew it would be like punching a hologram. Why couldn’t he just wake up from this stupid dream—no, _nightmare_? Bless it all, he was homesick.

“Take me back to London,” begged Crowley.

“Very well,” smiled Gabriel. “Your wish is my command.” 

Once again the world spun around them. But when the scene cleared again, Crowley was not prepared for what lay around them.

They stood on an expanse of scorched ground, still smoking, ashes falling everywhere. The sky was dark grey and red, colored by the smoke of small fires that still burned. The charred remains of buildings surrounded them. Something fluttered past Crowley’s face in the hot wind. He grabbed at it. It was a charred bit of printed paper, like the corner of the page of a book. 

“Where are we?” he asked, but he already knew in the pit of his stomach. He felt sick.

“London, of course. There’s your boyfriend’s bookshop. Burned to the ground, what a shame,” he tsked. “Of course this time no one put it back after it burned. No, young Adam and his little friends are hanging out with Adam’s real father.”

“Nonononooo, it can’t be right. This can’t be right. What about Aziraphale? Where is he?” Would the nightmare never end? He’d already lived through this once, in real life.

Gabriel sighed. “He’s in Heaven, of course. You weren’t there to convince Aziraphale to try to stop Armageddon, so he did nothing to try to stop it either. Hastur delivered the child, no mistakes were made, and young Adam was convinced in the end to play his role in the matter. He really came through,” chuckled Gabriel. “The war was a big success.”

Crowley was speechless with horror.

“Oh come on, now,” reasoned Gabriel. “It’s not that bad. Earth wasn’t going to last forever anyway, and Aziraphale’s fine. Come on, I’ll show you.”

And the world went white again.

Suddenly, they were in Heaven’s corporate offices. It was as sterile and bright as ever, but now bustling happily with activity. Piped-in music played, so that all Heaven’s host could enjoy it, all day every day… “ _The hills are aliiive with the sound of music_ ….” 

Aziraphale sat in an all-white cubicle in the stark blindingly white offices of Heaven, doing paperwork while all around him the other angels joked and talked with each other, sometimes giving each other high-fives over their Heavenly victory. His eyes were dull, not even looking at the papers he was stamping. His face was expressionless. It was the most awful sight yet, even worse than the scorched remains of London. To see all the life drained out of his angel, for all eternity. He didn’t even have a friend here in Heaven. Then in an even more surreal moment, Gabriel—the actual Gabriel—came up behind Aziraphale and slapped him hard in a faux-friendly manner on his shoulder. “Cheer up, old buddy,” he said with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “We won!”

“Oh, yes, of course, it’s wonderful,” agreed Aziraphale. He forced his mouth into a smile that was the saddest thing Crowley had ever seen, just as bad or even worse than the look he’d given Crowley when he’d wrecked the Christmas tree. It was as though all the beautiful inner light had just gone out of the angel.

He whirled on Gabriel. “Make it stop, let me wake up. It’s a bloody nightmare.”

Gabriel regarded Crowley with an expressionless face. “I’ll let you out of this soon enough,” he said almost kindly. “But there’s one more visit we have to make. Let’s go back to the scene of the crime, so to speak, shall we?”

They were back in the bookshop. It was snowing outside, and Aziraphale sat alone nursing a cup of cocoa and reading. A Christmas carol played on the record player, one of the more depressing ones—Crowley thought it might be The Little Drummer Boy—and there was a small tree in the corner with a few plain baubles to decorate it. Gone were the snow globes, wreaths, garlands and little Father Christmas figurines. No other decorations were around. 

“This is back in the world you know, as it was when you went to bed last night, but one year from now,” said Gabriel. “This is what Aziraphale’s Christmas will look like if you stay on your current path. In this reality, after you ran off to sulk Aziraphale gave you a day. Then he tried to call you over and over. Left you a voicemail that he forgave you. 

But you’d decided he was better off without you, you weren’t good enough for him, blah blah blah, all about you again, and he gave up after awhile. You stayed away, and the longer you stayed away the easier it got for you. But not for him.”

“I’ll let you wake up,” he continued. “But what have we learned from our little lesson? Do you remember my telling you what your problem is? That everything isn’t about you?”

Crowley slumped, his head hanging. That was it. He’d hurt his angel badly, and when Aziraphale had told him to get out he had done so, just leaving him there so he could go sulk and nurse his hurt feelings. And worse, he had planned to _stay_ away. He could have just snapped his fingers and fixed the tree, gone and hugged him and told him how sorry he was. But in his quickness to punish himself, he had punished the angel even worse.

“You see, Crowley,” said Gabriel. “You and Aziraphale really do have a wonderful life. _Together_.”

Crowley couldn’t stand it any longer. He grabbed the white lapels of Gabriel’s jacket, crumpling the fabric in his hand. “Make it stop, please just make it stop. Let me wake up…”

Gabriel nodded. 

And suddenly the fabric he was crumpling in his hand, he realized, wasn’t Gabriel’s jacket but his own bed sheet. 

He was back in his own flat, kneeling on his bed, and he had wadded up his sheets in his sleep. He was covered in sweat. It had all been a nightmare, then—just as Gabriel/The Spirit of Christmas had said. 

Morning light streamed into his window, and he glanced at his phone on the nightstand. It was the next morning, not a week or two past—thank Someone, he hadn’t overslept. He desperately, frantically needed to get back to his angel. He looked at the clock. It was 7 a.m. He miracled on clean clothes and literally ran out the door.

The Saturday farmer’s market was just setting up, with stands selling organic tea, all kinds of food, and Christmas gifts. He looked around in desperation for something to buy for his angel. Most of the Christmas stands were only halfway set up, but he ran from one to the other and soon his hands were full. He had bags stuffed with Christmas biscuits, Santa figurines, marshmallow snowmen, a Christmas pillow. He’d even bought the most Godawful Christmas jumper and a stupid reindeer antler thingy for his head.

And then he saw it. The thing he really needed. A horrifically cute ceramic Christmas tree ornament—not a glass apple, but even better. He smiled at the little old woman at the stand who sold it to him—and it was a genuine smile. 

He ducked around a corner to miracle the garish jumper on himself. It was a red and green monstrosity with little Santas all over it, and gold pom-pom decorations trimming the neck and sleeves. 

He stuck the reindeer antlers on his head and ran as fast as he could manage to A.Z. Fell and Co. Books.

Gasping, he arrived at the front door, his breath fogging the air in the cold. He pounded on the door with all his strength. He took his sunglasses off and peered through the window. He could see the riot of red and green Christmas decorations that still festooned the shop. Aziraphale had even righted the tree, and it once again stood majestically with ornaments and lights intact. _Thank Someone_. It was all still there. He was really truly back.

Now if only his angel would answer the door. He was on the verge of miracling the lock open when suddenly he heard footsteps and a voice. “We are quite closed, thank you!”

“Angel, it’s me. Angel, please, please open the door! Please! I know you don’t want to see me, I’m the last person you probably want to see. But I’m begging you! Aziraphale, just let me—just, I’m sorry, angel!” His voice was hoarse from the cold and the shouting, and perhaps from desperation. But he would stand there and shout all morning if he had to—

The door opened. Aziraphale stood there, gaping at Crowley in shock. And then the angel’s mouth twitched. 

At his door was the most ridiculous sight he’d ever seen. Crowley, the biggest Scrooge of a demon that could be, stood there loaded down with a red shopping bag and wearing the most outrageous Christmas jumper he’d ever seen. But the sight of reindeer antlers standing at attention on top of the demon’s head sent him over the edge. He burst out laughing even as Crowley pushed his way inside, set the bag down while kicking the door closed, and then threw his arms against the angel and sobbed.

“Aziraphale, you’re really here. They didn’t soak you in ale and bully you, and you didn’t get your head chopped off,” he babbled incoherently. 

“Well, of course—my goodness…”

“When I saw you alone with your cocoa—and the Sound of Music—oh dear God—dear Satan—blast it, it was awful. Gabriel showed it all to me,” he continued. “I’m sorry, angel. So sorry. It was a stupid prank gone wrong. I turned into a snake and slithered up your tree to surprise you—and I know you were mad but I shouldn’t have left. I thought—I thought you’d be better off without me and I wasn’t going to come back. Can you forgive me?”

He calmed a bit as Aziraphale hugged him tight and stroked his hair, shushing him like a child until he could speak coherently. He let go reluctantly, aware of the angel’s wonderful warmth and smell—like cinnamon and cookies, cocoa and pine all mixed together. He looked into Aziraphale’s’ beautiful blue eyes.

“Angel, I’m sorry for the prank and for ruining your tree, but I’m even sorrier I left thinking what I did—that I wasn’t good enough for you, or that you’d be better off without me. And sometimes being in love means sticking around even when you drive the other one mad. If you forgive me for being an idiot, I’d like to make a holiday with you.”

“My dear, I’ve already forgiven you. And I'm sorry I got so very cross and told you to leave. It wouldn’t be _you_ if there weren’t a bit of chaos and drama in my life, now would it? How could you think I’d ever be happier without you, you ridiculous old serpent?” He smiled at Crowley, and gently reached out to smooth the tears off his face. “Now what’s in the bag?”

“Lots of things, but I want you to open this now.” He reached down into the bag and handed a little box to Aziraphale.

The angel opened the box, and there was a new ornament for the tree. 

It was a little hand painted ceramic figurine of two cherubic figures kissing—an angel in white robe and halo, and a little devil in a red suit with a pitchfork. *

Aziraphale held it to him, beaming at Crowley who was looking at him with puppy eyes—or as puppyish as his snake eyes could be. He kissed him tenderly.

“Why don’t we go on inside, my dear, and I’ll hang this on the tree. We’ll have a nice cup of cocoa and you can tell me all about whatever it was that you were babbling about. Something about cocoa and Gabriel, my head being removed from my body, and the Sound of Music?”

Crowley basked in the angel’s love and happiness, and all he wanted now was to sit with his angel and snuggle with their cocoa—and perhaps do other things as well.

“It was the worst nightmare, angel. I’ll tell you all about it later. But can we do something first?”

“What’s that, darling?”

“Let’s close the shop for the day.”

“Of course we’re closed for the day, my dear. It’s Christmas."

"But Christmas is days away," Crowley said.

"Well, it's _our_ Christmas, anyway.” The angel grabbed Crowley’s grinning face in his hands and peered into his mischievous demon’s eyes.

“Happy Christmas, silly old serpent.”

“Happy Christmas, angel,” said Crowley. And he meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *In the Neil Gaiman Tumblr, he explains why Crowley appears especially cross and sarcastic with Aziraphale in the Rome scene. He’d just come from trying to tempt Caligula. You can read about it here: https://neil-gaiman.tumblr.com/post/186120752001/hi-neil-i-had-a-question-about-the-meeting-in
> 
> *It looked something like this: https://www.worthpoint.com/worthopedia/vintage-lefton-hp-angel-kissing-devil-885405824
> 
> Sorry, I haven't figured out how to insert links into AO3 yet!
> 
> If you like old movies and haven't seen "It's a Wonderful Life," go watch it!  
> And if you liked the story, please please do leave a comment!


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